Post by baconshinobi on Aug 20, 2009 9:20:46 GMT -5
Chapter 1
His breath shuddered as it crawled timidly from his throat. Benjamin chewed his eraser nervously. His green eyes traveled slowly across the room, following the barest hint of a gray sleeve as it floated amongst the elderly shelves of Nonfiction. A silent thrill wriggled through him as the hand attached flashed in and out of sight. It was him.
For weeks, Ben Tennyson had jumped at the tiniest hint of a black shirt, a grey sleeve, an oil-stained rag, that long, silky black hair… that crooked nose—with a smirk to match. It didn’t matter whether or not it was actually him, just the reminder sent the poor teen’s senses reeling in a rush of blood to his…cheeks.
Ben’s hand slapped across his mouth, head whipping down into the leaves of his book as his face soaked with embarrassment. Did he see me? I think he saw me. Shit, he’s coming over. Shit. He thumbed through his novel anxiously, willing the sweat trickling down his spine not to call attention to itself.
And then….four places down the long mahogany table, the behind of Kevin Levin graced the seat rather….gracelessly. The dull thunk of his jeans on uncomfortable library chair, however, was oddly balanced by the loud smack made by his stack of hardcovers.
The show of such careful nonchalance made Ben giggle into the smelly pages of Ender’s Game, but his bubbles of laughter were quickly squashed. All of a sudden, the boy across the table’s head whirled around and fixed Ben with a hard stare. Unused to being so close to the object of his utmost affections, the mousy brunette had completely forgotten how to use his volume control. Ben’s chair made a little scoot as he jumped in his seat. His eyes were acid green dinner plates on the beet-stained placemat of his face.
Kevin’s dark eyes were narrowed; accusatory and cold. He leaned forward menacingly, scrutinizing the boy shrinking under his gaze. Staring poor Tennyson down with his forearms supporting him on the table as he leaned closer, he suddenly spoke; his words sliced through the tension, hedge clippers chomping down upon a bungee tether. “You any good at English?”
Ben stared at him, dumbfounded. Seriously? Of all the things he could have asked, was I good at English? “Uhh, sorta, I-I guess…?” he stammered nervously, trying to rid himself of the Stupidity Cotton clogging his mouth.
With a sweep of his strong gray arm, the dark teenager slid his books across the table, moving to the seat across from Ben. “For real? Like, passing, right?” his stare had morphed into a slightly more skeptical version of its previous analysis.
“Well, yeah, I guess. I mean, I haven’t checked lately or anything, but I got a B or something on my last test…” Ben chattered anxiously, fumbling with the pages of his book as his heart rocketed around against the sides of his ribcage. He could feel that unflattering shade of red leak onto his godforsaken cheeks.
Kevin raised his eyebrows, softening his intense stare. “Shit, you’re kiddin’ me; who’s your teacher?”
He scratched the back of his head nervously, fidgeting with the strands of hair that brushed his neck. “U-um, Jeffries.” Mortification engulfed him as he admitted he was a year younger, viscous and unforgiving. Ben felt like he was drowning in the molasses of shame.
“You got a B in her class? That lady hated my guts! I was lucky if I even averaged a D! What’d you do, lick her freakin’ boots every day for a month?” Kevin seemed completely unfazed by this little nugget of information, and surprised Ben by pretty much ignoring it altogether.
Ben laughed nervously, “She’s not all that bad; I mean, I heard she’s easier this year or something…” he knew it was a lame cover up, but he couldn’t stop his motor mouth. Better mindless chatter than a panic attack, he figured.
The boy across the table snorted disbelievingly. “Yeah right. If nothing, that old hag only gets worse the further she gets from menopause. There’s a reason she’s still a “Miss”,” he derided. “Still,” he leaned back in his chair, arms folded, “She ain’t who we’re talkin’ about.”
Apparently Ben’s cheeks could get redder. “R-right. So, I guess I’m pretty okay at English, um, is that all…?”
Kevin frowned slightly, his intense eyebrows drawing dark, shadowy curtains across is eyes. “Yeah, about that…” he searched for words, “See, the thing is, I got a report to do here, and I need a decent grade on it…”
“Y-you want me to write it for you?” Ben squeaked.
“Nah, that’s just lame, I ain’t some kinda quitter that ain’t smart enough ta write his own crap!” he defended, “I jess need some… guidance.” His words had all the grace of a used car salesman with an eighth grade diploma: smooth in presentation, but clunky everywhere else. No wonder he was failing English.
Ben brightened up immediately. Be Kevin Levin’s private tutor? Yes please. “Well I’d be happy to help you out or something if you want,” he chirped, trying not to seem too eager.
Kevin’s beautiful lips curled into an even more lovely smirk and he extended his hand to Ben. “Name’s Kevin Levin.”
He reached forward to grasp Kevin’s hand across the table, resisting his first impulse to say ‘I know.’ “Er, I’m Ben! Ben Tennyson,” he managed to say around the heart that had somehow lodged itself in his throat.
Kevin laughed, shaking the small hand in his own. “Nice ta meetcha, Ben Ben Tennyson,” he teased.
As if his head weren’t reeling enough already as it was, Ben was suddenly overcome by the strangest sense of déjà vu.
His breath shuddered as it crawled timidly from his throat. Benjamin chewed his eraser nervously. His green eyes traveled slowly across the room, following the barest hint of a gray sleeve as it floated amongst the elderly shelves of Nonfiction. A silent thrill wriggled through him as the hand attached flashed in and out of sight. It was him.
For weeks, Ben Tennyson had jumped at the tiniest hint of a black shirt, a grey sleeve, an oil-stained rag, that long, silky black hair… that crooked nose—with a smirk to match. It didn’t matter whether or not it was actually him, just the reminder sent the poor teen’s senses reeling in a rush of blood to his…cheeks.
Ben’s hand slapped across his mouth, head whipping down into the leaves of his book as his face soaked with embarrassment. Did he see me? I think he saw me. Shit, he’s coming over. Shit. He thumbed through his novel anxiously, willing the sweat trickling down his spine not to call attention to itself.
And then….four places down the long mahogany table, the behind of Kevin Levin graced the seat rather….gracelessly. The dull thunk of his jeans on uncomfortable library chair, however, was oddly balanced by the loud smack made by his stack of hardcovers.
The show of such careful nonchalance made Ben giggle into the smelly pages of Ender’s Game, but his bubbles of laughter were quickly squashed. All of a sudden, the boy across the table’s head whirled around and fixed Ben with a hard stare. Unused to being so close to the object of his utmost affections, the mousy brunette had completely forgotten how to use his volume control. Ben’s chair made a little scoot as he jumped in his seat. His eyes were acid green dinner plates on the beet-stained placemat of his face.
Kevin’s dark eyes were narrowed; accusatory and cold. He leaned forward menacingly, scrutinizing the boy shrinking under his gaze. Staring poor Tennyson down with his forearms supporting him on the table as he leaned closer, he suddenly spoke; his words sliced through the tension, hedge clippers chomping down upon a bungee tether. “You any good at English?”
Ben stared at him, dumbfounded. Seriously? Of all the things he could have asked, was I good at English? “Uhh, sorta, I-I guess…?” he stammered nervously, trying to rid himself of the Stupidity Cotton clogging his mouth.
With a sweep of his strong gray arm, the dark teenager slid his books across the table, moving to the seat across from Ben. “For real? Like, passing, right?” his stare had morphed into a slightly more skeptical version of its previous analysis.
“Well, yeah, I guess. I mean, I haven’t checked lately or anything, but I got a B or something on my last test…” Ben chattered anxiously, fumbling with the pages of his book as his heart rocketed around against the sides of his ribcage. He could feel that unflattering shade of red leak onto his godforsaken cheeks.
Kevin raised his eyebrows, softening his intense stare. “Shit, you’re kiddin’ me; who’s your teacher?”
He scratched the back of his head nervously, fidgeting with the strands of hair that brushed his neck. “U-um, Jeffries.” Mortification engulfed him as he admitted he was a year younger, viscous and unforgiving. Ben felt like he was drowning in the molasses of shame.
“You got a B in her class? That lady hated my guts! I was lucky if I even averaged a D! What’d you do, lick her freakin’ boots every day for a month?” Kevin seemed completely unfazed by this little nugget of information, and surprised Ben by pretty much ignoring it altogether.
Ben laughed nervously, “She’s not all that bad; I mean, I heard she’s easier this year or something…” he knew it was a lame cover up, but he couldn’t stop his motor mouth. Better mindless chatter than a panic attack, he figured.
The boy across the table snorted disbelievingly. “Yeah right. If nothing, that old hag only gets worse the further she gets from menopause. There’s a reason she’s still a “Miss”,” he derided. “Still,” he leaned back in his chair, arms folded, “She ain’t who we’re talkin’ about.”
Apparently Ben’s cheeks could get redder. “R-right. So, I guess I’m pretty okay at English, um, is that all…?”
Kevin frowned slightly, his intense eyebrows drawing dark, shadowy curtains across is eyes. “Yeah, about that…” he searched for words, “See, the thing is, I got a report to do here, and I need a decent grade on it…”
“Y-you want me to write it for you?” Ben squeaked.
“Nah, that’s just lame, I ain’t some kinda quitter that ain’t smart enough ta write his own crap!” he defended, “I jess need some… guidance.” His words had all the grace of a used car salesman with an eighth grade diploma: smooth in presentation, but clunky everywhere else. No wonder he was failing English.
Ben brightened up immediately. Be Kevin Levin’s private tutor? Yes please. “Well I’d be happy to help you out or something if you want,” he chirped, trying not to seem too eager.
Kevin’s beautiful lips curled into an even more lovely smirk and he extended his hand to Ben. “Name’s Kevin Levin.”
He reached forward to grasp Kevin’s hand across the table, resisting his first impulse to say ‘I know.’ “Er, I’m Ben! Ben Tennyson,” he managed to say around the heart that had somehow lodged itself in his throat.
Kevin laughed, shaking the small hand in his own. “Nice ta meetcha, Ben Ben Tennyson,” he teased.
As if his head weren’t reeling enough already as it was, Ben was suddenly overcome by the strangest sense of déjà vu.
